


Lost Boys

by static_abyss



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Foster Care, Growing Up, M/M, Personal Growth, Road Trips, Trope Bingo Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur turns eighteen he finds out there's money in a bank account he's only just allowed to touch. Arthur doesn't know how much it is, but his father's lawyer tells him it's enough to send Arthur to university, and to start a new business if Arthur wanted. Arthur can have the house now too and the cars his father had before he died. He's just not sure if he wants all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Boys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anivhee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anivhee/gifts).



> For [Andrea](m--emrys.tumblr.com), who is super awesome and great and I love her so much. Also to the team yellow members from merthur party. You guys rock. Have a very Happy Valentine's Day everybody. 
> 
> Fills the rite of passage square on my [trope_bingo](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org) card.
> 
> Please see the bottom notes for detailed warnings.

Arthur is a month old when his mother dies. 

When his father dies, he is thirteen.

-

He ends up in foster care because his uncle, Agravaine, breaks his nose when Arthur is thirteen and a half.

At eighteen, Arthur is old enough to leave foster care and the foster parents that spit on him because he happens to like boys more than he likes girls. He packs a bag with his clothes and the few family pictures he has. One is of his mother with her arms around his father's neck. His father is laughing at something to the left of the camera, but Arthur's mother is looking directly at the camera, her eyes almost closed from how big her smile is. 

It's the only photo Arthur has of his mother. When she died, Arthur's father burned everything that belonged to her, but he'd given Arthur the photo and told him to keep it. Arthur understands why. His mother is beautiful, with dark blonde hair and green eyes. Arthur doesn't look like her the way he looks like his father, but the ring on his thumb belonged to her, and the picture he tucks into his backpack is to make sure he never forgets her. 

-

There's money Arthur didn't know about in a bank account he's only just allowed to touch. Arthur doesn't know how much it is, but his father's lawyer tells him it's enough to send Arthur to university, and to start a new business if Arthur wanted. Arthur can have the house now too, and the cars his father had before he died. 

There's a Mercedes-Benz that's at least ten years old in the lawyering firm's parking garage that also serves as a storage unit. The black paint on the car still shines when Arthur takes off the tarp that's covering the car. There's a leather interior in the four seater, and the driver's seat is pushed back enough that Arthur thinks he won't have to adjust it when he takes the car out. 

"I'll take the car," he tells his father's lawyer. His name might be Gaius, but Arthur hadn't paid attention to the plaque in the office or when the man had introduced himself. 

Gaius nods and hands Arthur the keys. "What about your other property?"

Arthur looks down at the keys in his hands, at the first new pair of jeans he's owned in years. His sneakers are brand new, the jacket, the shirt, even the scarf. All his clothes fit, but they feel off, as though Arthur's stepped into a different body that he's only just learning to control. His backpack is the only thing that he didn't change, and there's a change of clothes that aren't new in there. He kept his favorite jeans and the worn red t-shirt his first foster mother gave him.

Arthur knows there's a business somewhere that his father started and that Arthur inherited along with the house, the bank accounts, and the car. He has responsibilities now to the people who worked for his father, to the legacy his father left behind. Arthur read the newspapers, saw the people who came to pay their respects to his father. He knows there's a lot he has to live up to, mannerisms he has to relearn to use. 

He's not good enough, never will be as great of a man as his father was, but Arthur can fake it. It's the same as faking that he liked girls when he was in his second group home so that the bigger kids there wouldn't hurt him. It's as easy as pretending he didn't know the answer in school because he didn't want to attract attention to the fact that he's a Pendragon, no matter how much Arthur tries to hide it. His father was respected and when Arthur was in foster care, the kids made sure Arthur knew that he wasn't better than them.

Even so Arthur learned to care for them. He learned to get along with the kids who sat alone in the cafeterias at school. Eventually he got along with the kids who sat in groups. They liked him and Arthur liked _them_. He was angry with them, angry at the parents that hadn't been able to take care of them, at the parents who hadn't bothered to check if the people they left their kids to were decent people. Arthur learned to make a new family, and even when he got put into different homes, the kids in the system all knew they'd find each other eventually. Everyone who left the temporary houses always came back eventually.

People got tired of homeless kids who only knew how to hate their dead or missing parents. But Arthur had gotten over how much he hated his father and mother for dying. He'd grown up, kept his head down, and learned to love the people who loved him enough to smile at the camera so that he'd have something to remember them by. Some of the other kids never learned to forgive, and when Arthur found out there was money for him in a bank account, he promised himself that he'd help them all.

Now that he's here, with the money to help, it's not so easy. Arthur has a responsibility to his father's company, but before that he has a responsibility to himself. He's eighteen years old with no university education, and he's going to go because it's expected of him, but before that Arthur just needs to _go_. 

He needs to get out of London, where everything reminds him of broken homes and dead parents. He wants to get in his father's Mercedes-Benz and drive into the country, take a boat to Ireland, maybe a plane further away, as far as he can go before he has to come back. Arthur needs to forget that there are people in the world who would spit at a kid's face just because he prefers cock. He needs to forget the sleepless nights where he wondered what his father would say if he knew that Arthur liked boys.

It never made sense, looking at his father's smile in the photo, that Arthur's father would hate his son for something as simple as a sexual preference. But years of hearing things from adults who were supposed to know better has made Arthur doubt. He knows, objectively, that his mother and father wouldn't have hated him for being the way he is, but he can't help the nausea that rolls over him whenever he thinks of them. He doubts and neither of his parents are here to ease that doubt, so Arthur needs to go. He tells himself it's to find himself, but deep down Arthur knows he's running.

He's not so sure if he'll come back.

-

Gaius gives Arthur his phone number, a list of hotels along the road that always have rooms, and a debit card. He also gives Arthur a phone with GPS that Arthur has to learn how to use. There's a bag with clothes in the backseat of the car, a grocery bag of snacks, and blankets.

"Take care of yourself," Gaius tells Arthur. 

Arthur looks at the grey hair on Gaius's head, at the tenderness in Gaius's eyes. It makes Arthur pause and reconsider the help Gaius gave him, the way Gaius never said no when Arthur told him he was leaving for a while.

"You knew my dad well," Arthur says. 

Gaius nods, "He would have been proud."

Arthur looks away because there are so many things he has done and hasn't done that wouldn't make his father proud. 

"He would have," Gaius insists when Arthur doesn't say anything. "No matter what you may think."

Arthur looks down at his feet. He can hear it in Gaius's tone, in the sympathy he saw in Gaius's eyes. When he looks up he can see the knowing look in Gaius's eyes, and there's only one thing that Arthur is afraid of, one thing that's kept him up at night. 

"You know," Arthur says.

"Who you chose to love has nothing to do with who you are, Arthur," Gaius says, and his tone of voice leaves no room for argument. "Your father knew that, and your mother never let him forget."

Arthur nods again, takes that piece of information and adds it to the information he has on his parents. It helps ease some of the tension in Arthur's shoulders. He palms the car keys, leaves Gaius behind, and goes to the car door to open the driver's side. He unlocks the car, half turns to Gaius to nod his goodbye.

"Before you go, Arthur," Gaius says. "One more thing."

"What is it?" Arthur asks, turning, his hand still on the door of the car.

Gaius stares at him for a moment, as though memorizing Arthur's face. "Never seek approval from a dead man," Gaius says. "They're too far gone to give it."

Arthur can feel his heart thump loudly in his chest. The words echo what he's known all along, make him feel as small as when he found out his father wasn't coming home again. He's glad to hear them though, needs to hear them.

"Thank you," he whispers, and Gaius just smiles sadly as Arthur gets into the car.

-

Arthur drives for half an hour around London, just to get a feel for the car. It's mid-morning so there aren't too many cars on the roads, but it looks like it's going to rain and Arthur wants to be as far away from London as he can before that happens. 

He doesn't make it, and on his second pass of Gaius's office it starts pouring. There's so much water on the windshield that Arthur has to pull over a block away from Gaius's office. He knows to wait out the worst of the rain, turns on the car radio for the first time, and leans back to listen. There's a One Direction song on that Arthur has heard playing in the shops. He lets the loud noise drown out the pattering of the rain on his windshield. It's cold in the car, and though Arthur doesn't have to worry about money anymore, it's not in him to let the car idle. He sinks down into the seat, knees hitting the underside of the car bonnet. His tan jacket does a good job of keeping Arthur warm for the most part, and he's getting ready to nap when he sees the boy through the left side mirror.

The boy is across the street, tall, gangly, with his arms wrapped around himself. He's wearing a dark blue jacket that's open, a yellow t-shirt under a plaid shirt and worn jeans. The hat on his head is lopsided, and he looks seconds away from freezing to death. Arthur watches from inside his car as the boy sits down on the steps of one of the houses lined up on the street. The boy takes the newspaper, opens it, and sits to read.

Arthur glances at the cars parked around the street, at the neatly organized recycling bins, and the clean streets. There are barely any cars running on the road, and it's painfully obvious that the boy doesn't belong. It's still raining too but the boy doesn't seem bothered by the rain. He sits in the steps, clothes and newspaper getting wet.

Arthur doesn't think too much before he's opening the car door, shoulders scrunched up in a vain attempt at keeping the rain off. He shoves the car door closed with his hip, glances at his white trainers, at the water running down the street. The kid is across the street, shivering into his dark blue jacket, eyes trained on his newspaper. As Arthur gets closer, he can see how prominent the boy's cheekbones are, how he has the newspaper open to the dining section, his eyes skimming over the pictures of food.

Back when Arthur was at the care center for the third time, there had been a little kid, Mordred, maybe seven years old, who'd been so starved he'd been skin and bones. Mordred was an exception, but it's easier to remember exceptions, Arthur thinks. 

The boy sitting in front of the steps to house number 23 reminds Arthur of Mordred. This boy has the same jet black hair peeking out from underneath his hat that Mordred had. When Arthur gets closer, he sees that this boy has the same shrewd, blue eyes that Mordred had, as though the boy knows things that other people can't see. The look used to scare the other kids in the center, and Mordred didn't have many friends, but Arthur did his best to make sure Mordred was okay. 

Arthur had seen Mordred bounced from foster home to foster home, until he'd been adopted by a black couple who couldn't have children. They'd taken one look at Mordred and decided that they wanted the eight year old boy. Mordred hadn't come back, and Arthur likes to think that it's because Mordred found a good home. Arthur never had a way of finding out for sure, and he thinks that's part of the reason why he's standing in front of this boy now.

"You lost?" Arthur asks.

The boys looks up from his newspaper, head tipped back so he can look at Arthur from underneath his hat. There's a bruise forming on the boy's right cheek, a cut scabbed over his left cheekbone. 

"Nah," he says. "I'm good."

Arthur can tell from the way the kid hunches in on himself that he's used to being treated roughly, to hiding to keep himself safe. Now that Arthur is so close, he can see that the boy's clothes are ratty, and the boy's shivering is worse.

"You a foster kid?" Arthur asks. 

The boy looks up sharply, his eyes narrowing as he looks over what Arthur's wearing. Arthur shifts from foot to foot wishing he'd kept his old clothes. He knows how distrusting people like this boy are, how easy it is to scare them. Arthur gets it. He may have been lucky enough to avoid being beaten by his foster parents, but he can understand distrust, how it's easier to hide from everyone than to be hurt again. 

"I'm Arthur," he says, stuffing his hands into his jacket pocket. 

He's standing two paces from the bottom steps, far enough to give the boy on the second step enough space. The boy puts down his newspaper, his wet hair sticking to his forehead. Arthur had forgotten about the rain, but now that he's paying attention he can feel the water seeping into his trainers, can feel his own blond hair plastering to his forehead. 

"What do you want?" the boy asks, eyes running over Arthur, stopping at the ring on Arthur's left thumb. 

"You hungry?" 

The boy fists his hand around the newspaper he's holding, eyes angry as he stares at Arthur. "What's it to you?" he asks, getting up.

Arthur takes a step back until he hits the black garbage can on the edge of the sidewalk. He holds out his hands so that the boy can see he's not hiding anything. 

"I'm just a bloke like you, mate," he says. "Just turned eighteen. Aged out. I'm just asking you if you're hungry. I've got food in the car."

The boy looks Arthur up and down, stops when he meets Arthur's eyes and holds his gaze. Arthur stays still. He knows that the boy is looking for the look they all share, the bone deep weariness that settles in somewhere between watching the second and third kid get adopted. 

"What group?" the boy asks. 

"Five Rivers," Arthur answers automatically. 

The boy whistles lowly. "Good for you, Sir Arthur. What? Did they feed you there, or did you have to pick up your own silver spoon?"

Arthur shakes his head. "What?"

"We had to pick up our own wooden spoons where I come from," the boy says, getting off the steps and moving towards Arthur. "Had to find our own food too."

Arthur frowns, anger starting to boil in his veins. He tries not to notice how blue the boy's are, or how now that he's closer, Arthur can tell they're about the same height.

"My parents are dead," Arthur says, trying to explain that Five Rivers or elsewhere, a group home is a group home. "My uncle broke my nose."

"My dad murdered my mum," the boy says, head tilted to the side. "Thought she was a dragon trying to kill him. Did you know they don't got room for the son's of murderers at Five Rivers. They send kids like me to Ealdor."

There's nothing in the boy's face that gives away whether he's lying or not. It doesn't matter, in the end, Arthur guesses. The boy is still in foster care whether his dad really killed his mom or not. "Does it matter?" Arthur asks, finally. "Why are we comparing shit stories?"

The boy eases backwards, smiles. "You're okay," he says, sounding impressed. "Most people who look like you hate people like me. They think their story is so much worse when shit like that doesn't matter."

Arthur frowns, looks down at his clothes. "So, what?" he asks. "You're testing me?"

The boy shrugs. "If you're really from the system, you know we have to be careful with people who look well fed and decent."

Arthur does know, but this is the first time in four years that he's ever really felt like the decent looking people. He always knew, from the kids in the group homes or in school, that he didn't look like them. He wasn't unloved, wasn't unbathed, hadn't looked like he'd had a history of violence except for the bruises on his face. Arthur has blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and the looks of someone from the upper class. His accent hints at a step below aristocracy, his posture too.

He unlearned all that, blended in, and it's strange to him that he can fall back on old habits so easily. It makes him feel as though he's separate from the kids he considered friends--from Gwaine and his wild laughter, from Lance and his gentle smile even through all the bad things that happened to him--and Arthur's not different. He knows that, and he doesn't appreciate this boy making feel this way.

When Arthur looks up, the boy is watching him closely from two steps away. Arthur frowns, doesn't know what he's supposed to say now. He doesn't even really understand why he wants to tell off the boy. 

"The way you look has nothing to do with who you are," the boy says. 

Arthur narrows his eyes. "You just said--"

"I know," the boy shrugs.

They stare at each other, and Arthur can see the clear amusement in the boy's eyes. He's lied so easily to Arthur in their single conversation, changed directions so fast it's thrown Arthur off. He doesn't really know what this boy thinks. It's foolish to believe anything he says, but at the same time what he says rings true to Arthur. 

"So the car?" the boy asks, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Arthur blinks, tucks his hands into his jeans pockets, and nods over his shoulder at the car. His hair is stuck to his forehead from the rain, clothes almost soaked through. 

"It's over there," Arthur says. "And if you hadn't been so difficult we'd be drier right now."

The boy laughs, "Please," he says. "You wouldn't have liked me so much if I hadn't been difficult."

"Who says I like you?" Arthur asks, turning around and leading the way across the street and back to the car. "I don't even know your name."

Arthur can hear the boy following, hears the soft exhaled laughter.

"I'm Merlin."

"Good to meet you, Merlin. I'm Arthur."

They're silent as they make their way to the right car. Arthur takes the time to look at the streets, to memorize the neat row of connected houses. He is going to come back, he decides. He'll be back because there are boys who sit on house doorsteps and shiver in the rain.

"This your car?" Merlin asks, voice gone low in admiration.

"It was my dad's," Arthur answers, jiggling the keys in the door lock.

"How rich was your dad?" 

Arthur's fingers fumble with the keys. He gets the door open though, turns the car on and unlocks the back doors. He can feel Merlin hovering over his shoulder as Arthur straightens up. 

"So?" Merlin asks.

Arthur isn't ready to tell Merlin about his father or the business empire Arthur owns now. There's just something about Merlin that Arthur can't seem to shake off, a feeling that what Merlin thinks about Arthur matters. It doesn't occur to him that he's probably never going to see Merlin again. At the moment, all Arthur can think is that he doesn't Merlin to think that Arthur is one of the well-off jokers that would come talk to the foster kids because there was going to be a photographer nearby.

It makes him angry too. He doesn't like the way he feels judged by everything Merlin says. Arthur knows who he is, and he doesn't need a kid like Merlin making him doubt.

"How old are you?" Arthur asks.

"Seventeen and a half," Merlin says, tucking his hands into the pocket of his jacket. "I'm six months from aging out. Going to move in with my best mate, Will, once I turn eighteen."

Arthur nods, shooes Merlin away a bit so Arthur can get the grocery bag Gaius gave him out of the back seat. Merlin fidgets from where he's standing a few feet away. 

"They hit you?" Arthur asks without thinking.

"Nah," Merlin says moving forward to take the bag out of Arthur's hands.

Around them, the rain has stopped.

"I got into a fight with this guy who was beating on one of the foster kids at school. Ran away before they could catch me."

But Arthur is sure he didn't imagine the scared, hounded look in Merlin's eyes.

"Right," Arthur says finally. "Well. You need to change? I've got dry stuff in the back."

Merlin pulls an apple out of the grocery bag and takes a bite. "Yeah," he says. "I can change."

Arthur pulls out his old backpack. The material feels thin under his hands as he sets it on his knee to keep it from getting wet. He pulls out his old red shirt and the worn out jeans, sets them aside and digs for the new clothes. There's a clean white t-shirt that's neutral enough that Merlin won't get accused of stealing if his foster parents see him in it. 

"I don't know if the jeans'll fit you," Arthur says, taking out a black pair and tossing them at Merlin's head.

"It's fine," Merlin says, tossing the pair back and going for Arthur's old red t-shirt. "I can just wear this."

Arthur's hand goes out automatically to stop Merlin.

"What?" Merlin asks, narrowing his eyes. "I thought you wanted to help."

Arthur does want to help, and he understands why Merlin went for the most worn out clothes Arthur has. It's just that, even though they're just clothes, they mean something to Arthur. They're from someone who was kind to him, and who cared for him, and letting them go with Merlin feels like he's letting his first foster mom go too.

"What?" Merlin asks again, pulling his wrist out of Arthur's hand.

Arthur lets his eyes run over Merlin again, over his bruised face, and the too thin wrists. Merlin looks worn down, tired, and cold. There's something about him that is bothering Arthur, as though everything Arthur is seeing now is a lie. It's none of Arthur's business, really, what Merlin gets up to. It's not Arthur's job to save lost boys. 

Not yet.

Arthur looks at how thin Merlin looks, how everything he's wearing is soaked through. Arthur is not a saviour of lost boys, but if he can help them, even in the smallest ways, he's going to.

"Take the jeans too," Arthur says. "Those are smaller than the ones I gave you."

Merlin rolls his eyes, but takes the jeans and the red shirt. He goes around the car to the driver's side, facing the houses, looks down both sides of the street, and starts pulling off his jacket.

"In the middle of the street, really, Merlin? _Really_?," Arthur asks.

Merlin looks up over the top of the car, down the street, and then at Arthur. "Yeah," he says. "Why not?"

Arthur looks at the houses behind Merlin's head pointedly, and then at the line of houses behind them. Merlin just shakes his head and pulls off his shirts. Arthur's head snaps back down the street, eyes looking around for any sign of movement. He can hear Merlin's wet clothes hitting the top of the car, hears when Merlin tugs the dry shirt over his head, the opening of the car door.

"You better not be getting the inside of my car wet," Arthur says, eyes still looking firmly down the street.

"Just getting the pants," Merlin says. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping watch," Arthur says. "Don't want us to get arrested for public indecency."

Merlin laughs, and Arthur turns in time to catch the dimples on Merlin's cheeks, the way his cheekbones look sharper on his face. 

"You're so weird," Merlin says, bending over so that Arthur can't see him anymore over the top of the car.

"And you're an idiot, who's trying to get us caught," Arthur snaps.

He hears Merlin's laughter again, the rustling of jeans. Merlin stands up, tugging Arthur's jeans into place. He looks good in Arthur's red t-shirt.

"All right," Merlin says, throwing the last of his clothes on top of the car. "You're turn."

Arthur glances down the street, sees no one. He can feel Merlin's eyes on the back of his head, can almost see the amused smile on Merlin's face. 

"Do you need help?" Merlin calls, laughter evident in his voice.

"No," Arthur answers, rolling his eyes even though Merlin can't see him.

Arthur looks down at himself. His jeans are wet in spots near the top of his thighs, but they'll dry once he starts the heater in the car. He doesn't even need to change his shirt, just the jacket, but that'll dry too once he's in the car.

"I'm good," Arthur says turning to look at Merlin.

"Yeah," Merlin says, distractedly. "You are."

There's a moment where Arthur wants to make a joke, maybe flirt a little, but the bruises on Merlin's face stop him, sober him up. Instead of saying anything, Arthur tosses Merlin a plastic bag, watches as Merlin puts his things inside and shivers.

"Get in the car," Arthur says, taking off his jacket and draping it over the back of his seat. 

"Not going to kidnap me, are you?" Merlin asks, going around the car and sitting up front.

Arthur gets in, starts the car, and puts the heater up as high as it will go. "Who said you could sit in the front?" he asks, even as he's pulling away from the curb. "You're supposed to go in the back with the rest of the stuff."

"Just drive," Merlin answers, in between a yawn.

"No sleeping in the car," Arthur tells him. "I'm not carrying you inside."

At that, Merlin sits up. Arthur pretends he doesn't notice as he makes his way to the main roads. 

"Where am I dropping you off exactly?" Arthur asks, when they hit a red light.

Merlin doesn't say anything for a while, and Arthur is eighteen, not stupid.

"You're living in the street, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Merlin answers, shrugging. "But that's not your business."

It isn't Arthur's business, just like the company in Arthur's name isn't _really_ Arthur's business. This car isn't Arthur's, and out of all the clothes he owns, only what Merlin is wearing really feels like it belongs to Arthur.

It doesn't stop him, though. Just as not knowing anything about the Pendragon company isn't going to stop Arthur. He's decided what he's going to do, Arthur realizes, and he should call Gaius to let him know Arthur will be back. He doesn't though, because knowing he'll be back doesn't change the fact that he needs to get out for a little bit. He needs to just go and be a kid and fuck around in hotel rooms, stay up late doing absolutely nothing. Arthur wants to see Wales, and Ireland, and Scotland. 

Nothing, Arthur decides, is ever going to stop him.

"Want to go see Ireland?" Arthur asks.

"What?"

Arthur doesn't say anything until the next red light. He half turns in his seat to look at Merlin. 

"I haven't got a house yet. Not really," Arthur says, shrugs. "So I was going to go to Ireland, and Wales. Probably even Scotland eventually. Or just as far as the money goes. Want to come?"

Merlin glances at the stoplight, then back at Arthur's face. "Seriously?"

Arthur just looks at him expectantly.

It's not a crazy idea compared to the other things Arthur has done in his life. He could have picked up a stranger older and stronger than him. But he didn't. He picked up Merlin, who's got lanky limbs and pasty white skin. Arthur doesn't feel uncomfortable with Merlin, and if Merlin comes with him then that means Merlin isn't sleeping in the streets where someone could hurt him. 

"What the fuck?," Merlin says. "How much money have you got?"

Arthur grins. "Enough," he says. 

-

They drive for two hours straight to get to Northampton. 

Merlin spends the entire car ride complaining about how it's too hot in the car, then too cold. Arthur rolls his eyes so much he thinks they're going to fall out of his head. When it gets to be too much, he tells Merlin to shut up, and Merlin does. It doesn't help though, because Arthur can hear Merlin laughing at him even when Merlin says nothing.

"You're terrible company, Merlin," Arthur says, somewhere between the first hour and the second of driving.

Merlin says nothing because Arthur's asked him to be quiet. But Merlin doesn't really have to say anything for Arthur to know what he's thinking. And even that doesn't seem strange to Arthur, that he just knows what Merlin is thinking as though they've been best mates forever.

-

In Northampton, they go to the park, lie down in the grass and shiver from the cold air. Arthur's given Merlin the extra jacket Gaius packed, and he's wearing his own jacket again. They lie there and stare at the clouds in the sky, listen to the people walking by with their kids. 

It's four in the afternoon when they get up, almost an hour gone by just lying in the park. Arthur doesn't say much as he and Merlin walk out of the park, and into back to the street where they parked the car. 

"Hungry?" Arthur asks.

Merlin nods, eyes too busy taking in the buildings around them. Arthur shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, tries to keep his eyes away from Merlin's face. Without his hat, the bruises on Merlin's cheek stand out too prominent, so that they're the first things people will see when they look at Merlin. 

They're a street away from the car when Merlin pulls on Arthur's hand.

"What's that?" Merlin asks, but he's already dragging Arthur along.

They cut through a street lined with stores--Abington street, the sign reads--and come out into a market square. There are vendors lined up in neat rows, with red and white striped covers overhead to keep the rain and the sun away. People are walking in between the rows, their chatter a complement to the cars a few streets away. It's a rush of sounds and smells, and Arthur and Merlin just stand there for a moment trying to take it all in.

Arthur remembers having guests over at the house when his father hosted dinner parties. Those had been formal, with Arthur in a suit, sitting at his father's right. He'd never been allowed to move, had learned to keep so still it was like he was invisible. He'd entertained himself by watching the guests, trying to guess which one of them had the most money by the way they grabbed their forks.

Arthur thinks that if he tried, he'd still remember which utensil to use for what dish. He can probably still sit still for hours, saying nothing. It doesn't feel wrong this time, just different from the noises and the people in front of him right now. 

Arthur doesn't want to look at these people. He wants to join them, to walk through the rows of vendors and touch things, buy things that he can put in his father's house. The house that's supposed to be Arthur's now. He wants to fill up the empty spaces with things he doesn't need, put these people in there so that there's always someone there. So that Arthur doesn't have to be alone.

"C'mon," Merlin says, tugging Arthur's hand. "Let's go see."

There are people selling purses at the first vendor they see, one selling computers, shoes, towels, toys. Someone is selling coffee and Arthur and Merlin both stop at the same time to inhale. They grin at each, still holding hands. The smile on Merlin's face makes him seem to much younger than he is, and Arthur holds his hand tighter.

"Knowing you, you'd probably get lost if I let you go," Arthur says when Merlin turns to look at him.

Merlin shakes his head, and they walk past the rush of people asking for prices or buying things. Arthur buys them towels and toothbrushes from the same vendor, an older man who smiles at them until he sees Merlin's face. They move on quickly from there, only stopping when they really want to look at something.

Arthur gets lost in the constant movement from the people at the market, from the mixture of smells. He thinks he smells skewered meat and tea.

They get talked into the hot pork and stuffing rolls by the lady at the Good Food Emporium. She smiles at them, and even though her eyes linger on Merlin a little longer than Arthur likes, she doesn't flinch. She tells them stories about her kids at home, how her youngest is probably Arthur's age.

Arthur talks back to her, laughs at her jokes. Merlin nods occasionally, makes the lady laugh when he does. Arthur tries not to think too hard about why Merlin's acting as though this is the best meal he's ever had. It just makes him angry, because the more time he spends with Merlin, the more convinced Arthur is that Merlin doesn't deserve what he's gotten. He keeps it to himself though, doesn't want to scare Merlin off by saying the wrong thing.

They eat too much at the cafe, because the lady keeps putting food into their plates and Arthur doesn't know how to tell her to stop. She charges them the price of one even though they've probably eaten for five people. When Arthur tries to pay her the full check, she stuffs a bag of food at him and sends him on his way.

"I can't," Arthur tries to tell her, even as he keep an eye on Merlin, who's wandering out.

"Please," she says. "It' just a little thing. Nothing really."

It doesn't feel like nothing to Arthur. He thanks her again, because he doesn't really know how to tell her that he's grateful even if things aren't how she thinks they are. He isn't lost, but Merlin is, and Arthur supposes she's close enough.

-

On the fourth day of their trip, Arthur loses track of where he and Merlin are going. They'd been heading up towards the coast nearest to Ireland, but they'd spent too many days in Northampton and now Arthur doesn't really know where to go. He wants to keep driving for the most part, wants to keep telling Merlin to keep his feet off the dashboard. 

"It's not even your car," Merlin says whenever Arthur says anything about the car.

"It's more mine than yours," Arthur answers.

They avoid the hotels on the list Gaius gave them after Arthur got patted down the first time they tried to check into one. He'd been asked for his ID, and one look at the name on the card and they'd let them go. That's why Arthur avoids the hotels on Gaius's list, though he's told Merlin it's because they look too poor to belong. 

The difference between the last five years of his life and the life he lived before those years--the life he's meant to live now--is too jarring. Arthur's not ready to be Pendragon yet.

-

They're two weeks into their trip, in a motel somewhere near Manchester. Merlin is lying down on his twin bed, fully clothed except for this trainers. All their lights are off, so that Arthur doubts Merlin can see him sitting on his own bed.

The two of them have been driving all over the place, have stopped aiming for one thing. It's freeing, in a way Arthur hadn't expected, to have someone with him. When they get lost, Merlin's laughter keeps Arthur's temper in check. Arthur makes sure that Merlin doesn't get in trouble, though he's come to realize that Merlin is better at that too.

Arthur blames the laughter, the way he feels at home with Merlin. He blames the way Merlin laughs and how he shoves Arthur's shoulder when a particularly good looking guy walks by, as though Merlin knows that too. Arthur blames Merlin for the way Arthur's life has narrowed down to one boy with pale skin and jet black hair.

Just being around Merlin makes Arthur feel guilty for keeping secrets, for not just telling Merlin who he is. They've passed hundreds of billboards with the Pendragon name spread across the board. Arthur doesn't look at them too closely, because he doesn't want to give anything away. 

It wouldn't matter so much to Arthur if Merlin, himself, didn't mean so much to Arthur already. Aside from the first time they met, Merlin hasn't tried to ask about where Arthur is getting the money for their trip. It makes Arthur wonder, whether Merlin hasn't gone through his stuff and already knows.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

Merlin's voice brings Arthur out of his thoughts. When he looks up, he sees that Merlin's turned the bedside lamp on and is watching Arthur. 

"It's--," Arthur means to say it's nothing, but he makes the mistake of looking at Merlin's concerned face, at his frown, the way his blue eyes are focused on Arthur.

"My name's Arthur Pendragon," he says instead. 

"From the billboards?" 

Arthur nods. 

"With the--," Merlin stops. "Wait, hang on. What did your father do?"

Arthur opens his mouth to answer and stops. He has no idea what his father's company does. It strikes him as hilarious, and he's laughing before he can stop himself.

"No idea," he says in between bouts of laughter. 

Merlin waits for him to stop and Arthur can see how hard Merlin is trying to keep himself from laughing. His lips are pressed into a thin line as he watches Arthur pull himself together.

"I've been sleeping on cheap motel beds when you could have gotten us the best room at over-priced hotels?" Merlin asks, sitting up in his bed.

Arthur looks at him, at Merlin's expectant expression. 

"You're ridiculous," Arthur says. 

He means thank you.

"You're welcome," Merlin answers.

-

"My dad did kill my mum," Merlin says the next night, when Arthur finally gives in and checks them into a proper hotel. "He wasn't right in the head, you know? Didn't know what he was doing and ended up going to jail for it. He died about a month before I met you. It's why I left the house. I just couldn't be there anymore."

They're both lying together on the same bed even though the room came with two, the sides of their arms pressed against each other. Arthur had fought Merlin for the right side of the bed just a few minutes ago, had laughed when Merlin made a big show about moving. 

The only noise in the hotel room, now, is their quiet breathing. Arthur can understand why Merlin's breathing a little harder than he was before, knows what it feels to get the weight on his chest off. He lets Merlin have his time, waits until Merlin's breathing normal again before he speaks.

"Is that the big secret, then?" Arthur asks. "That you were never actually lying to me."

Merlin huffs out a laugh through his nose. "Yeah," he says, taking Arthur's hand. "That was it."

-

Three weeks into their trip, Arthur phones Gaius. They're back in Northampton, and it's the middle of the night, but Arthur doesn't want Merlin awake to overhear this conversation. 

He takes the hotel room phone and goes to sit by the door, as far away from the bed he and Merlin share. They've stopped pretending that they need two beds, stopped pretending that neither of them can feel their heart racing when it's dark and they get too close. They haven't really done anything about it either, but Arthur is okay with doing things in small steps.

Arthur calling Gaius is a small step. He's not ready to go back yet, but he has a date now, a goal.

"Hello?" comes Gaius's sleepy voice through the phone.

"Gaius?" Arthur says. "It's Arthur."

Arthur hears rustling over the phone and then Gaius is back.

"Arthur," he says, sounding more awake. "How are you?"

"Good," Arthur says. "Listen, I just phoned to let you know that I'll be back soon."

"How soon?" 

"Six months, Gaius," Arthur says. "It has to be six months. Is that alright?"

"Honestly, it's a relief to know you plan on coming back," Gaius says. "But why six months?"

Arthur glances at Merlin spread out on the hotel bed. "It just has to be six months," he says. "But I'll be back."

"And you'll go to the university your father picked out for you?"

"Yes," Arthur says. 

Merlin shifts on the bed, the covers rustling.

"And live at the house?"

"Yes."

Gaius is silent for so long that Arthur can start to feel the tension in his shoulders. 

"Six months seems like a very specific time," Gaius says, finally. 

"Please, Gaius," Arthur says. 

"Okay, my boy. Six months then."

Arthur is so relieved, he hangs up without saying goodbye. He places the phone on the floor next to him and watches Merlin on the hotel's bed--on their bed. The quiet sounds of Merlin's breathing and the way his clothes are all over the hotel room floor ease the doubts Arthur was feeling. He is going to go back, he knows.

He's going to go to uni, get a job at his father's company, and find a way to help all the kids he left at the group home. The only thing he is unsure of now is where Merlin will fit in all of that, not because Arthur doesn't know where exactly Merlin belongs in his life, but because he's not sure Merlin will want to stay.

But small steps. Arthur will do this in small steps.

He's getting ready to go back to bed, when Merlin speaks. "Why six months, Arthur?"

Arthur does his best to hide the way his heart is jackhammering in his heart. "You're awake?"

Merlin rolls over on the bed so that he's facing the ceiling. His limbs are spread out across the bed, the streetlights giving Arthur enough light to see by. Merlin doesn't look angry. He looks confused.

"You turn eighteen in six months," Arthur says, because how could Merlin not know why Arthur needs six months.

"So you can get rid of me in six months without feeling guilty?"

Arthur shakes his head. "What?" 

Merlin sits up in bed, and he's still not angry. He's frowning at Arthur, as though there's something he's trying to figure out but can't. Arthur stands up, his back pressed against the hotel room door.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" Merlin asks.

But Arthur can tell Merlin knows that's not it. He asks again, as though maybe if he asks the question enough times, he'll believe that Arthur really is trying to get rid of him.

"No," Arthur says. "I'm waiting for you. So you don't have to go back into the system. So you can home with me...if you want to."

Merlin's frown deepens. He stands up, holds out a hand when Arthur tries to step towards him. "You want me to come with you?" he asks.

"Yes," Arthur says, doesn't know how he can say it any clearer. 

He wants Merlin to fill up the empty rooms in the Pendragon house with his laughter. He wants Gwaine and Lance to come visit so that Arthur can tell them all about how he and Merlin met. Arthur wants to hear Lance to admit that if he'd tried to pick up someone from the street, he'd probably be dead. 

_But not Arthur_ , Gwaine would say. _Because Arthur gets all the luck_.

"Yes," Arthur says again. "I do."

Merlin nods. "Okay," he says. "Don't move."

"Why?" Arthur asks. 

Merlin smiles, "Because," he says. "I'm going to kiss you now."

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for suggested child abuse, though not explicitly stated. Also for a mention of murder. SPOILER: Merlin's dad murdered his mom, but he wasn't aware he was doing it as he had a severe mental disorder. Also, although I did not mark this as underage, Merlin is 17 and Arthur is 18. Also a brief mention of people being mean about homosexuality, but it's not explicitly stated either.
> 
> I am aware that the foster care system doesn't work exactly the way I wrote it out, but please suspend your belief for a brief moment, as the story requires it. My apologies if anyone is offended by anything in this fic, it was not my intention.


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